She pulled her fingers free of her lips and moved slowly toward me. And again I gripped her arm as she found me, as she stirred her fingers in me, toying me, making me dizzy. I leaned into her, releasing her arm and bringing my hands up, taking hold of her nightie, my fingers flexing and relaxing in the fabric while I moaned against her chest. I came then, her fingers, wet with my juices, teasing my clit, her touch barely there. She pushed a finger into me then, holding it still while I clenched at her, rhythmically, unable to hold myself up. And when I calmed and the dizziness subsided, I eased my grip and pulled back, meeting her gaze, my head shaking, my smile gone.
She pulled her finger free, making me shiver, and she brought it up, holding it out to me. My brows drew and I shook my head.
“Trust me, baby.”
I hesitated but, brows still drawn, I opened for her, inhaling my scent as her finger slipped in.
Intoxicating.
That was the only word I could think of to describe the smell. And the taste, though not as appealing as the smell, wasn’t bad. I made a face, dubious. She shook her head, smiling, easing her hand between us, back between my legs, making my eyes flutter as she slipped them between my lips, coating them, dragging them over my clit as she pulled them out. And I watched, lip caught in my teeth as she offered them to my father. I hadn’t noticed, but he’d been watching us, though with my mother’s position, he couldn’t see me. Now, though, as I leaned around her, meeting his gaze as he worked his tongue over her fingers. My stomach turned at the sight, at the sound of his moan.
“Like sugar, baby,” he said, his tone low and thick.
I smiled, shy.
“Can I have some more?”
I nodded. My mother got up then and crawled up from the foot of the bed, stretching out beside him, her nightie coming up to reveal that, like me, she wasn’t wearing panties.
My father patted the bed, urging me closer. I moved, nervous, to the spot my mother had occupied. He shook his head. “Up on your knees, sweetheart.” I moved, slowly, unsure what he wanted. “Spread your knees.” I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, in my ears, as I complied, moving my knees about half a foot apart, lip caught in my teeth. My gaze tracked my mother’s hand as she reached out to him, hefting him. His voice brought me back to him.
“Wider, honey.”
Sitting on my heels, I leaned back, taking the weight off my knees, and I began to spread them, watching his eyes, thrilling to see his gaze on my sex. He nodded. “Lean back on your hands, honey.”
I spared my mother a glance. She nodded. I returned my gaze to his and leaned back onto my arms. This was, without doubt, the most obscene thing I’d ever done. Sitting as I was, knees wide apart, I could practically feel his gaze on me, on my lips.
“Beautiful,” he said, his head shaking. He reached out then, laying his hand on the inside of my knee, teasing my skin with the tips of his fingers.
“Sweetheart…”
I turned to meet her gaze. She wiggled his length, offering it to me, her hand still slowly stroking him, though not as hard as before. I reached out, but rather than release him, she moved her hand to the bottom, wiggling her hand, the end of him swaying in the air like a flagpole in a gale. I caught him, wrapping my fingers around him, squeezing gently, turning to meet his gaze. He rolled his eyes, moaning. I smiled. “Does that feel good?”